


Muscle Memory

by Eruphadriel



Series: Muscle Memory [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, In the Fade, The Fade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-17
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-04-09 19:39:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4361675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eruphadriel/pseuds/Eruphadriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Triss Trevelyan and Warden Alistair get trapped in the Fade, Cullen and Warden Carolyn Amell don't know how to cope. Years pass, but the rift never reopens and the Inquisitor does not return. Desperate, the commander and the warden turn to other places for aid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Muscle Memory

**Author's Note:**

> Is it strange that I came up with the idea for this fic while listening to 'Muscle Memory' by Lights? How did I get such angst from such a lovely song? 469 words.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short drabble to begin the story. Cullen struggles with Triss's disappearance.

The last time Cullen had seen the Inquisitor, Triss Trevelyan had been haloed in green light, falling through a tear between reality and the abyss. And with a blinding flash, the Fade was sealed – and had taken Triss, Vivienne, Cassandra, and Varric along with it.

Alistair would take care of her, he assured himself almost daily now. More frequently he was reminded by Dorian that Triss would be the one taking care of him and Hawke. That did little to lessen his worries, though. Too often did Cullen pause in his work to pace the floor, glare out at the snow, and contemplate just what Triss was battling that very moment. Too often did he remain awake and take walks through the snowy courtyard, the vast emptiness of his bed yawning and growing until it overwhelmed him.

Too often did he awaken from nightmares of the sky opening up with a furious roar, leaving his ears ringing, his heart hoping… Only to have her body fall at his feet.

Cullen gasped and jolted upright, stomach lurching as the shadowy tendrils of his nightmare fled to the corners of his mind. His hand reached out, searching, but his fingers found only the cool, empty sheets Triss had left behind. A space just big enough for her absence to fill.

This wasn’t the first time Cullen had been wrenched from sleep by his own terror. It happened at least twice a week, perhaps more when the workload grew heavier. His recollection of Kirkwall and Kinloch Hold was easily dealt with, as she had taught him. “This will help you sleep tonight, and tomorrow we will talk.” Throwing on a simple dressing gown, he climbed the creaking ladder down to his office. There by the window, there had manifested a small table with two stout glasses and a bottle of whiskey the colour of scorched cinnamon not long after he and Triss had made their relationship official. The crystals tinkled together as Cullen, his mind a world away, poured two glasses.

He paused. Stared at the twin drinks, still rippling from his amateur pour. Cullen’s hand darted out, sending one of the glasses flying across the room and crashing against the door. A draft whispered over the spilled whiskey, which slashed bloodily across the floorboards.

He had heard her voice. “And one for me, please.” Cullen had taken to mouthing the words on his way down from the ladder. He had heard it. Or had it just been a memory? Had the pour simply been his muscles recalling the ritual action? He cussed and downed the drink in one short pull, whiskey trailing fire down his throat and making him wince and hiss through his teeth. He should have kept the second glass. This wasn’t nearly enough to sedate him. Not tonight.


	2. New Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Triss Trevelyan is stuck in the Fade, but holds hope that she will soon escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 522 words

“Varric, do you remember the time we fought the Arishok?”

“Heh-heh. Yeah.”

“Remember how I ran around those two pillars, searching for my health potions while you, Aveline, and Anders were passed out?”

“Vague…ly?”

Hawke grunted and, with her foot, kept the spider corpse still as she wrenched her sword from it with a slick squick. "I’d rather the Arishok impale me again than spend another five minutes here.”

“You think this is bad?” Alistair laughed. “My Carolyn once dragged us into the Fade. Had to rescue Wynne, Leliana, and I from desire demons.”

“Oh? And did one of you abandon her for the promise of a big boat?”

“Hawke…” Varric warned.

“Can we move along?” Triss snapped. The Inquisitor wiped her sword off on her sleeve and shoved it back into its scabbard. The sound echoed off of the rocky bluffs that floated above them.

Alistair winced dramatically. “Ooh! Patience is a virtue, you know, Inquisitor. That’s what the Chantry taught me, anyway.”

“I agree with the Inquisitor,” Cassandra announced, stepping over the twitching remains of a fear demon and came to stand between Triss and Vivienne, who had watched the scene unfold in silence. “We need to keep moving. The faster we get out of the Fade, the sooner we are safe.”

Vivienne laughed, the lilt of her amusement odd in the whispy, ugly setting it echoed through. “Seeker Pentaghast, what makes you think our dear Inquisitor is any safer in Thedas than she is here?”

A despair demon screamed. The sound was faraway, but the cry travelled across the stretches of the Fade and slithered frostily up Triss’s spine. She shivered and rolled the shoulder of her sword arm. The muscle there had never healed quite right since her first encounter with the ice-slinging bastards. She still shuddered with phantom chill sometimes.

Cullen had always made it easier to bear the scars the Inquisition had thrust upon her. He had kissed her shoulder, her knee, her belly – everywhere an enemy blade touched. He had kissed every bruise from training, every sprain from swinging too gingerly from saddle. One sweltering summer night, Cullen had even worked up the courage to press his lips on the mark that marred her palm.

“Lead the way,” Cassandra said.

“Huh?” Triss blinked dumbly.

Alistair narrowed his eyes, brow crinkling with worry. “Sheeee’s not what I expected in an Inquisitor.”

“Missing your shield – I mean, your dear Warden Amell?” Hawke snorted. Varric gave her a smirk and a shake of his head.

Warden Theirin frowned. “A little, yes.” Then, his voice stiff with disdain, “Do you miss your Chantry-destroying boyfriend?”

“That’s enough,” said Cassandra in a growl. The Seeker looked to Triss. “Shall we move on?”

Still caught in memory’s of Cullen’s soft, careful mouth, Triss’s voice eluded her. She simply nodded and took the lead. Boots crunched behind her, the abyss groaned ahead of her, and an ache grew along the line of her cheek. She swiped her thumb over the sting, and it came back smeared with red. Another scar for Cullen to kiss.

'If I ever get out of here.'


	3. Anniversary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Skyhold laments 2 years of their Inquisitor's absence, Cullen struggles to cope with what is now deemed a 'loss'. But his old friend, Warden Carolyn Amell, holds the same grief for Alistair, and seeks comfort in one who shares her pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1,103 words

“To the Inquisitor!” Bull roared, and the whole tavern raised their cups. Silence overwhelmed the building as everyone took a swig in Triss’s name.

The Qunari liquor scorched Cullen’s throat. It earned coughs from a few of the soldiers and an all-out squeal from Josephine. After he drained his cup, Cullen grabbed the bottle from its spot at the bar and helped himself to another glass. As the tavern’s din returned to a dull roar, Leliana swaggered over to the commander’s seat and leaned against a wooden pillar.

“I’ve never seen you drink this much, commander,” she commented. “Are you sure it’s a good idea?”

“If you think it unwise,” he grumbled, “then look away.”

She straightened. “Cullen, I –”

“Allow me this one night, Leliana.” He looked up at her, brow scrunched in pain. “One night.”

“Is something wrong, Leliana?”

Cullen flinched at the words. He hadn’t quite become accustomed to Carolyn’s sultry voice. He and Warden – or rather, Inquisitor Amell, had quite the history at Kinloch Hold. His memories of Carolyn had haunted him just as adamantly as the rest of his experience at Ferelden Circle did. Cullen had concluded, after years of thought, that Carolyn was but fuel for the desire demon – nothing more. But still…

“Our commander seems fond of Qunari liquor,” Leliana explained, the slight Orlesian sway of her voice pricking at Cullen’s nerves. “I was questioning whether or not it was a good idea to drink so much, especially on this day.”

It was two years, nearly to the hour. Triss falling away into the rip in the sky. The rift swallowing her up and vanishing. Waiting for hours, then days, as Solas and Dorian worked to reopen the portal. At last they had resolved to return to Skyhold’s quiet, gaunt halls.

Carolyn’s hands rested on Cullen’s shoulders. “Can I get you a ladder, so you can get off his back?” she asked snippily.

Leliana wrinkled her nose. “Fine. You deal with him.”

She had a way of sounding so sure, so conclusive when she spoke. As she turned her back on him, Cullen felt yet another friend drifting away from him. 'No. Not drifting. I pushed her away.' It was a repeat of Iron Bull and Dorian all over again. He didn’t even want to think of what he had said to Cole in the state he was in a few months ago. Cullen bowed his head, frowning into his cup.

As the spymaster marched away, back towards her and Josephine’s table, Carolyn dragged a chair over and plunked down beside Cullen. The commander took a long pull from his cup.

“Well?”

“Well what?” Cullen muttered.

“Do you want to talk about it? About her?”

Cullen shot her a glare. “Do you want to talk about Alistair?”

Carolyn stiffened. After a quiet moment, she said, “You know, Cullen, nobody else really understands. Maybe you don’t want to talk, and that’s fine. But Sera refuses to believe Triss is gone, Cole keeps parroting everything I say back to me, and the Chargers just shove drinks at me. You’re the only person I can talk to.”

Cullen bowed his head, swirling his drink. Its contents were already too low for his liking. When Carolyn didn’t continue, he looked up at her as gave her the slightest of nods.

Her expression fleetingly softened. Then her plush lips pressed into a hard line. “Now that I’ve… I don’t know what to say now.”

“Nightmares?” Cullen suggested.

Carolyn let out a long breath. “Yes. And they aren’t even the worst part.” She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, unspoken words darkening her face. “You know when you wake up early from a horrible nightmare? And it’s still dark out, and you just can’t get back to sleep. But there’s nobody to talk to, no work to distract you… Nothing to do but sit and stare at the walls or walk with no real destination in mind.”

Tears pricked Cullen’s eyes. He simply nodded.

Cullen leaned heavily on Carolyn for support, but she was a drunk as he was. The night was dead, Cabot had kicked them out of the tavern, and Cullen couldn’t stop laughing. His stomach ached, he laughed so hard. Carolyn’s dark skin flushed with both amusement and the drink. Steam wafted from them as they crunched through the snow.

“D-Do you remember when I set a whole shelf on fire the week before my Harrowing?” Carolyn rasped between chuckles. It was purely the Maker who had steered the conversation from Alistair and Triss to a time before the Inquisition.

“What about the morning of your Harrowing?” Cullen slurred. “When… When Harrison herded the Tranquil into the linen closet like cattle?”

“Yes!” the Warden cried, eyes squeezed shut and a massive grin on her face. “He – heh – He was trying to delay you Templars so I could get ready! I woke up an hour late and was scrambling for my clothes.”

“So that’s why your robes were on backwards!” Cullen hooted.

As the laughter faded as she led him up to his office, Carolyn lifted her face to the sky. Fat flakes of snow drifted down from the black sky, dusting her lashes and eyebrows and sable locks. They melted on her lips and clung to her clothes. When she opened her eyes and her gaze met Cullen’s, they swam with nostalgia.

“Do you remember the night before my Harrowing?” she whispered.

Cullen swallowed hard. He nodded.

“So do I.”

His back met the cold, stone wall of the battlements, head knocking against a merlon. Back in Kinloch Hold, they had stood eye to eye. Now Cullen was taller, and Carolyn had grown, too. Though she had grown in a much different way. But her eyes were the same. Her smile was the same. Her deft fingers, calloused by magic, were the same.

“Cullen…” Her voice was a whisper beneath the wind.

Her hot palm skated up his chest to his shoulder. Her breath tickled the base of his throat. Perhaps it was the way his head muddled with liquor, or perhaps the gaping loneliness that ached in his very core. But he found himself leaning closer, the side of his nose grazing against hers.

Carolyn’s kiss was the same as it had been. But it was too quick, a peck on the side of his mouth. Cullen shut his eyes.

“No?” she murmured.

“Yes,” he replied in a husky tone, hands gripping her elbows and pulling her against him. Maker, it felt incredible to have the warmth of another person near him.

It had been too long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to check out the night before Carolyn's Harrowing, check out my fic Fervent Prayers.


	4. A Warden From Legend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Triss fights her way from danger, she must choose who will remain in the Fade: Hawke or Alistair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 675 words

They weren’t spiders anymore.

Triss’s teeth clenched tight, jaw aching, shield splintered, muscles in her sword arm screaming for relief, she fought. Maker, she fought. The citizens of Kirkwall screamed around her. Conjured by the Nightmare, conjured from her memories. She could have saved them if she hadn’t hid in Darktown. But she listened to them die at the hands of abominations and her mage friends perish at the swords of Templars. And Triss had remained in the darkness. Crying. Trembling

She would not make that mistake again.

“Die, you son of a bitch!” screamed Triss as she took another hacking blow at the demon. Both hands, callouses worn and bloodied at the hilt, gripped the handle as she swung.

“I need healing!” Cassandra roared, and a flash of light burst from where Vivienne stood.

“Hawke! You good?” shouted Varric over the hiss of arachnid enemies.

Marian shoved her sword through a spider’s skull. Its spindly legs twitched and it gave a shudder as it died.

“That answer your question, Varric?” she asked as she yanked her sword free, a spray of sickly green ichor spurting in its wake.

“Ugh!” Alistair wailed, blood-spattered face twisted at the sight of the mangled corpse.

“You will never triumph!” declared the Nightmare, and the very ground shook with the power of its voice. “You’re a failure, Tristane. Those innocent people died because you let your fear steal your logic. You will fail Thedas and the world will meet its end, its people burning because you –”

“Shut. Up!” Triss shrieked, and shoved her sword squarely into the thing’s forehead.

The demon cried out, screams deafening, piercing her eardrums. The Inquisitor fell back, spine throbbing with the impact. When she opened her eyes, the Nightmare was crumpled on the ground, her sword trapped beneath it.

Cassandra grabbed her arm. “We have to go,” she announced. “Now.”

Alistair returned his blade to its sheath. “I couldn’t agree more.”

Leg muscles loose as weak bowstrings, Triss shambled towards the yawning rift. Without pausing to debate, she shoved Cassandra in and followed quickly with Varric. When it came to Vivienne, she simply offered the mage her hand and aided her into the green portal. The Fade grumbled as the hulking beast lumbered ever closer, the rift hissing with magic.

“What about that beaut?” asked Hawke, hooking a thumb over her shoulder to indicate the drooling beast.

Triss winced to think of it. “The rift can’t stay open forever. One of us has to stay back.”

“It can’t be you,” said Alistair. “You’re the Inquisitor.”

Triss scoffed. “And she’s the Champion of Kirkwall. What does that have to do with anything?”

“Right.” Alistair nodded once. “Champion of Kirkwall. Leader of the Inquisition.” He jabbed his thumb at his chest. “Just another Grey Warden.”

“Alistair, no! You –”

“Would you rather choose Hawke?” he challenged.

Triss paused. Varric popped into her mind. “N-No. I –” she stammered.

Alistair tore his sword from its scabbard, yanked his shield free, and got into a battle stance.

“Right then. Tell Carolyn how brave I looked charging into battle.”

“She’ll know,” said Hawke, edging towards the rift. “And knowing her, if you don’t come out, she’s coming in and dragging you out by your ear.”

The Grey Warden laughed once and turned to face his enemy. “That’s almost as frightening as this thing. Now go!”

“I’ll be fine,” Alistair added, mostly to himself. “As long as she doesn’t send Morrigan after me.”

He was running. Triss couldn’t believe it. He was actually charging towards the monstrosity. Despite all the jokes, all the whining about how Hawke was so mean and how Triss’s makeshift salves stung, despite everything that made Alistair feel more like a brother than a friend, he looked like a true warrior just then. A Grey Warden from the legends.

“I’d rather not get killed in the crossfire, Inquisitor,” Hawke cut through Triss’s thoughts. “Shall we?” She nodded to the rift.

Wordless, they clasped hands, armour clinking. Alistair’s battle cry twisted into the howling desert winds.


	5. Spring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen and Carolyn decide their fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 956 words

Sunlight poured through the rugged hole in Cullen’s ceiling. The floor had a damp patch beneath it, boards warped from the snowfall. It had only been a light dusting that morning; the last real fall before Spring would thaw Thedas. It always snowed in the mountains, but Cullen had found buds on the trees and wildflowers cropping up from the frosty, hard ground for air. Renewal. A fresh beginning. Cullen drew in a deep breath. The cold air tickled his nose and made his lungs ache. Maker, it felt good. It had been hard to breathe with that hole in his chest.

Carolyn rolled over, her back facing the commander. Cullen leaned over and planted kisses across the slope of her bare shoulders. Black freckles peppered her mahogany skin alongside scars where the neckline of her robes had ended. Constellations he had mapped out at night with his fingers while she slept, careful not to wake her. Keep to the stars, for one day soon the dawn will come. That was what the Chantry had told him. At last the clouds had cleared and Cullen could see again. He pressed a kiss between her shoulder blades.

“Good morning.” Her voice was a murmur, muffled against her pillow.

He frowned as Carolyn turned over to face him. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

She quirked an eyebrow. “Do you like me docile?”

“I like you. Period.” Cullen pushed aside a curl of brown hair that had fallen into her face.

“You don’t regret this?”

“No. But…” He hesitated, gaze moving to the tangled sheets between them.

Carolyn cupped his cheek and tipped his face up until their eyes met. “Go on.”

“It still feels strange,” he admitted. “She could walk through the gates of Skyhold at any moment, or be gone forever. I don’t know which is worse. And I’m not entirely sure if I fear it or hope for it.”

The Warden sighed, gaze dropping to Cullen’s hand as she took it and laced their fingers together. “I feel the same way about Alistair. If he were to burst through the door right now, I don’t know if I’d run to hug him or run to hide.”

“You can say his name.”

“You can’t say hers?”

Cullen shook his head. It wasn’t the complete truth, of course: he often awoke screaming her name. Less often now that Carolyn had taken to sleeping in his bed.

“Have you tried?” she asked softly.

He shook his head again, untamed curls bobbing.

“There’s no… closure,” he whispered. “Is she dead? Is she alive? If she is, is she fighting to get back?”

“I didn’t know Triss for long… But if she were alive, she wouldn’t be stagnant for long. If she is alive, Cullen – and for your sake, I hope she is – she is fighting.”

“Do you?”

“Do I…?”

“Truly hope for her to be alive?”

Carolyn bit her lower lip. “I pray for her safety just as I pray for Alistair’s own. But if they never returned…” She leaned forward to touch her forehead against Cullen’s, eyes closing. “I think we would be okay.”

Her lips brushed against his, her full body inching closer, warm beneath the thin sheet between them. Cullen pulled away. Carolyn froze.

“We can’t hold our breath forever,” she said, voice breaking on the last word. “We don’t deserve this torment – especially when it’s self-inflicted.”

“What are you saying?” he asked, eyes carefully downcast.

“That we assume they will never return. And if they show up, battered, arms open, then… We’ll deal with that if it happens. But until such a day comes, we give ourselves a break.” Carolyn’s fingers grazed the curve of his cheek. “You’re too hard on yourself when there is nobody to remind you to be gentle.”

She kissed him, soft and concerned at first. But as Cullen yielded to her, pulling the sheets away and drawing her closer, bare chest on bare chest, belly against belly, the kiss deepened. In a distant part of his mind, the commander wondered if Triss’s kiss had ever felt like this. She and Carolyn were wild, but not in the same way. Could that be why tears stung his eyes? Or was it the fact that her kiss was the latest part of Triss added to the list of things he had forgotten?

Carolyn rolled on top of him. Cullen wrapped his arms around her wide waist, plunged into darkness by the curtain of her hair that fell on either side of his face. First it had been Triss’s voice. It had been sharp and spunky, but quiet and gravelly when they were alone. But the exact lilt and pitch, he could not recall. The Warden’s fingers tangled in his hair, the tip of her tongue trailing across his lower lip. His lips parted, one hand on the small of her back, pressing her closer. Next had been Triss’s laugh. He thought he would never forget it, she laughed so often. Sometimes in dreams, Cullen heard it. He awoke and strained against his memory, clawing at his recollection, cursing the fleeting dependability of his subconscious that perfectly preserved the sound for dreams.

He tasted salt. Was it her tears or his? Cullen didn’t care. All that mattered was that the snow was melting and the ice was thawing. Flora bloomed outside and in. Carolyn was ambrosia, sowing seeds along the jagged mortal lines of his veins. Finally coming into bloom –

A horn sounded. Long, clear, cold. Carolyn drew away from him, the broken note of an unfinished song hanging in the space between their swollen lips. A party returning. 'That had better be Rylen’s men.'

“Duty calls,” she hummed, and climbed down from her position atop the commander.


	6. Explanations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Triss returns from the Fade to find the situation in Skyhold has changed since she last left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2,836 words

And she had thought climbing through the Frostback Mountains after meeting Corypheus had been bullshit.

The gates creaked open, and Triss sauntered inside. Her kneecap cracked and throbbed with every step. Why were the last few feet the hardest? She glanced back over her shoulder at her company as they were engulfed by the shadow of the gatehouse. Through his patchy stubble, Varric smiled up at Hawke, and both their eyes crinkled at the corners – though bruise-coloured circles had formed beneath them. Vivienne leaned heavily on her staff yet held her head high. It was as if the last few weeks of trekking through the wilds of Thedas hadn’t even happened. And Cassandra, Triss’s first friend in the Inquisition, the first to let her go and the last to trust her. Seeker Pentaghast strode only a few steps behind her, eyes tired, gait proud, rolling her shoulders underneath her dinted, worn pauldrons.

The sun glinted off of the cobbles, which glistened with puddles of melted snow. Clusters of concerned soldiers and confused vendors gathered around the edges of the courtyard. They remained bunched up along the perimeter, as if afraid of approaching. Were they phantoms? Imposters? The results of necromancy?

The first to emerge from the dismal, distressed crowd was Solas. He crossed the yard in only a few steps, long legs almost a blur as he hastened towards Triss. The mage snatched her left wrist in his hand and pulled her glove off. Her mark glowed softly, casting a green shadow across Solas’s gaunt features.

“It is you,” he whispered. “I have searched the Fade for months, but I could never find you. I even enlisted Dorian’s help, but –“ The elf shook his head. “How did you escape?”

“The same way I came in,” Triss explained in a matter-of-fact tone. “Give me a bit to get settled, and I’ll tell you all about it. Maybe you can explain it to me.”

Solas released her wrist and turned to face the crowd. “The Herald of Andraste has returned at last!”

“At last?” Triss frowned. “How long was I gone? You said you searched for, for months?”

Solas faced the party again, the rest of which had gathered around the Inquisitor. Now it was their turn to look confused.

“By my count, it has been two years, three months, and fourteen days since you fell into the rift at Adamant,” Solas explained.

Triss felt dizzy simply hearing the numbers. The airy feeling only grew as she realized how long she had been gone. It had only felt like a few days in the Fade, and their return to Skyhold couldn’t have been more than a month, perhaps forty days. She reached out to hold something, anything to keep her steady, but there was nothing.

“Cullen,” she said. “Where is Cullen?”

“Boss!” roared Iron Bull as he lumbered through the growing crowds and scooped Triss into his massive arms. His shoulder was hot against her freezing cheek.

“Where is Cullen?” she repeated.

Bull’s easy smile faltered. He set her down as Josephine and Leliana skittered towards her, quick and swift as leaves caught in an updraft.

“Triss!” Josephine cried. “Are you alright?”

“Bad knee, sprained wrist,” said Varric. He crossed his arms over his broad chest. “But don’t worry about us, Ruffles. We’re fine.”

“I’ll get a healer.” Leliana spun away from them and bolted back into the crowd.  
Vivienne’s legs gave a buckle and her hands slipped a foot down her staff. Hawke darted out and caught the mage. Triss grabbed Josephine’s shoulders.

“Josephine,” she said gravely. “Where. Is. Cullen.”

The lady-ambassador’s mouth opened and closed, words fleeting. She hummed hesitantly. Triss shut her eyes for a moment.

“If he is dead, just tell me.”

“No!” gasped Josephine. “No, it is nothing like that, Inquisi– Or, I… L-Lady Trevelyan.”

“Then what is ‘it’, then?”

The winds screamed through the mountains as Josephine stammered through the beginnings of a few explanations. When at last she settled on one, her words came slow.

“While you were gone, we had to appoint someone in your place. Cullen, Leliana, and I could only do so much, and Warden Amell offered to help us. We had little choice. The Inquisition needed a leader, and you –“

”I was off beheading demons in dreamland. I know. What does this have to do with Cullen?”

Against the stoic grey and green crowd, the crimson and sable of Cullen’s feather mantle appeared. Triss’s knees felt weak, and she whimpered at the mere sight of him. Maker, had he grown to be more handsome in her absence? She let Josephine go and started towards him. She had to kiss his scar, to embrace him, to run her fingers through his tousled hair – which he hadn’t seemed to bother brushing back that morning. But his expression slowed her steps.

The commander was pale as snow, lips parted, eyes wide. One hand hung limp at his side, and the other…

Triss halted. Then she moved slowly, carefully, towards Cullen and Warden – or rather, Inquisitor Carolyn Amell, who clasped his gloved hand tightly in hers.

“Triss?” he whispered as she drew closer, voice cracking. “You’re… You…”

“That wasn’t quite the welcome I had envisioned, Cullen,” she chuckled weakly. “But I’ll take it.”

She could see the tears pooling in his honey-coloured eyes. Triss could feel her own tears spill over and run down her cheeks. A drop clung to her lashes. Cullen didn’t move to wipe her tears away. He didn’t budge. Carolyn’s hand darkened, he clutched it so tightly.

“I see you’ve taken my place,” she commented to the new Inquisitor. Carolyn didn’t seem to hear her. The mage’s eyes scanned the crowd.

“No!” Cullen gasped. “No, she – I mean, technically, but nobody could ever –“

”You needed someone to take over,” Triss interrupted. “You needed a leader. I understand. But don’t think I’m going to lay back and watch as someone else assumes control, and I’m not going to ignore all she’s given, either. I suggest we work together as a team.”

Cullen’s cheeks turned the deepest shade of red Triss had ever seen them. “I don’t believe we’re talking about the same subject,” he said after a long moment of fumbling for his voice. “And if we are… I don’t know what to say.”

Triss furrowed her brow. “Why? What are you talking about?”

“Where is Alistair?” Carolyn whispered. “Where is he?”

The Inquisitor frowned. “Carolyn, I’m… We should speak somewhere private.”

“Why?” Carolyn’s gaze snapped to meet Triss’s eyes. “What’s going on? Where is he? Is he hurt?”

“Please, Caro–“

”Tell me!” she demanded.

Triss hesitated. She flexed and relaxed her sword hand, the sting-throb of her sprain shooting up her wrist. “He remained in the Fade to fight the Nightmare. He… He sacrificed himself to save us.”

As Triss explained the situation, Carolyn shook her head, mouthing the word ‘No’ over and over until she at last found her voice and cried out –

“No! You’re lying! Tell me where he is!”

“I’m sorry,” was all Triss could say in reply.

The Warden’s face twisted in horror and grief. She brought a trembling hand over her mouth. Carolyn buried her face in the crook of Cullen’s neck, sobbing into the base of his throat. The commander wrapped his arms around her.

“Remember what you said this morning?”

The words were barely a whisper, nearly stolen by the winds. Triss had to strain to hear him.

Cullen pressed his lips to the top of Carolyn’s head. “Do you remember? We will be okay if they never come back. And we will be. I promise. I’m still here for you, and I’m not going anywhere. I swear it.”

The commander turned away as Carolyn’s sobs of grief turned to wails.

“Cullen?” Triss murmured as he started back to the keep. She trailed after him for a few steps. The way Carolyn leaned into him, the concern in his eyes at her sorrow…

“I tried to tell you.” The melodic Antivian lilt of Josephine’s voice was carried on the breeze.

Triss turned around to face the woman. “Tell me what?” She already knew.

Josephine’s calm demeanour broke and anxiety crossed her tawny face. “During this difficult time, Commander Cullen has found… comfort in Warden Amell, in your absence.”

Triss stiffened. “Comfort. As in…”

“Yes” she replied carefully. “For several months now, they have grown closer.”

“I was going to say, ‘Comfort. As in playing chess together’. Not playing with each other.” Triss bit back the sarcasm and clenched her hands into fists. She turned on her heel and strode towards the keep.

“Inqui– My la– Triss!” Josephine called after her. “I do not think now is the best time for a confrontation.”

“If you think I’m going to speak with him now, while I’m liable to punch a stone to dust, you’re mad,” she shouted back over her shoulder.

With that said, Triss trudged towards the keep, seeking her chambers. She realized only halfway there that she had no rooms to go to. But she did not falter in her step. Not with all those people watching.

In the first hour after arriving at Skyhold, Triss had already recounted her tale of survival to Solas, examined the state of Thedas in the war room alongside Josephine and Leliana, stumbled across Varric and Hawke writing a difficult letter to one Isabela who knew an Antivian Crow of importance to Alistair, and promised a drink with Bull that night. At last Dorian had pulled her aside and forced her out of her clothes and into a chair.

Dorian gingerly smeared a funky-smelling salve across Triss’s thigh, earning a hiss from the Inquisitor.

“Andraste’s tits, Pavus,” she said in a wince. “Could you apply that a little rougher? I’m not sure I felt that.”

The mage laughed and the cure stung as it sank into the wound. Triss examined it as Dorian wiped his hands on a rag and bandaged her up, sealing the gash.

“It hurts because you stuffed unwashed elfroot in it. Honestly, what were you thinking?” He clucked his tongue. “Have I taught you nothing?”

“Hey, it was either that or deathroot, and I didn’t want to lose a leg.”

“A bit sensitive this morning, Inquisitor?” Dorian leaned back, still on his knees beneath Triss, who had her leg propped up on a second chair.

She rolled her eyes. “Not without reason.”

“So you’ve heard.”

“And here I was, believing my bad mood could be dismissed by the fact that I just spent weeks – I’m sorry, years – battling my way out of the Fade.”

“Only to find that Cullen has found love with another.” Dorian sighed almost wistfully as he tied off the bandage. “I know you’ve been through hell, Inquisitor. Anyone can see that. But it would be wise to try and see what Cullen’s been going through the past few years.”

Triss wrinkled her nose. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Dorian opened his hands to her, offering his palms in a symbol of honesty. “Let me put it in words you might understand: it’s easy to see how hard you’ve fought to be here, alive, still sane. You bear new scars, you’re unafraid to tell the story of your journey here. Perhaps Cullen has battled the same war within himself.”

He rose to his feet and replaced Solas’s healing tools to their respective places in their chest. “The first few months, he kept mistaking you for present. He would draw back in surprise when there was no place set for you at supper, wait for you to enter the war room before beginning council – he even brought your birthday gift all the way from his rooms to the keep before he realized his mistake.”

The image made Triss’s heart ache worse than her wounds. She looked away, down at the stone floor as black feathers drifted down and ravens screamed upstairs.

“On the first anniversary of your disappearance, Cullen didn’t leave his rooms,” Dorian continued. His grey eyes lifted to the window, from which their flooded amber light of sunset. “He remained holed up for two weeks until Leliana finally coaxed him down for a proper meal and a bath. It got a little better after that – at least, as far as we can tell.”

“What do you mean, ‘as far as you can tell’?”

Dorian’s mouth curled thoughtfully. After a moment, he explained, “Our commander is not a vocal man when it comes to his emotions, as I’m sure you’ve noticed by now. He, as well as any other leader of the Inquisition, is not meant to be mortal. You’re supposed to be pillars, giants in history. The heroes. And heroes aren’t supposed to feel things, are they?”

Triss nodded slightly. “I… understand that.”

“He put on a brave face, as it were. A mask. Nobody but Carolyn was close enough to Cullen for him to feel comfortable enough to… Well, break down, I suppose.”

The Inquisitor couldn’t help the grimace that sprang across her face. Dorian looked back at her and smiled wanly.

“I know you don’t want to hear her name. Naturally, I will be the one to say it: if you love him, you will love her.”

“Now you’ve really lost me. Are you telling me I’m supposed to have a threesome? Because I think Cullen mistook what I said for me suggesting that, and he…”

“As entertaining as it was to watch our commander turn a deeper shade of red than his mantle, that’s not what I am proposing.” His voice softened. “Carolyn picked Cullen up when he was on his knees. She practically dragged him straight out of his own despair. The other day, I heard him laughing. I never thought I would hear that sound again. And when I found him, he was with her; smiling, joking, not a trace of sorrow on his face. While you were in the Fade trying not to die, Cullen was trying not to die on the inside. And if it hadn’t been for Carolyn, I fear he would be in even worse shape.”

Triss bowed her head in shame. She hadn’t taken a moment to think about what it must have been like for Cullen. To be sure, the thought of them together still gave her an sour twist in her gut and a catch in her throat. But it did not come without pause and reassurance that desperate times did indeed call for desperate measures. Triss raised her timid gaze to Dorian.

“Do you think that he, or they, have… grown… Well, grown close?” She frowned at her own stammering. “Too close? For… me?”

Dorian crossed his arms and leaned against a bookshelf, studying the Inquisitor for a moment. “At least you’re not naive enough to believe he would abandon her without a second thought the moment you call him to your side.”

“But how long will it take?” Cold dread snaked through her veins. Triss frowned deeply, sorrow creasing her forehead. “If… If ever.”

“Don’t make that face, Tristane,” the mage said curtly. “Unless you want to age half a decade in half a year. And to answer your question, nobody knows. I doubt even Cullen can say how long it could take for things to return to normal – normal, of course, being demons pouring from rips in the sky and a self-proclaimed god threatening to destroy us like ants beneath his boot.”

“Is it horrible that I would take on fifty Corypheuses if that meant Carolyn would just go away?” Triss felt bad for saying it, but it was the truth.

Dorian chuckled. “How many of him would you fight for Cullen’s happiness?”

“There’s no number,” she answered immediately, instinctually. “I’d fight until my arms fell off, then I’d gnaw at the son of a bitch’s ankles.”

“While I would pay a good sovereign to see that display,” Dorian said, pushing himself off of the bookcase, “all you need endure for Cullen’s happiness is Carolyn’s presence. Nobody can say how much time it will take for them to separate – if ever, as you said, though I prefer a more optimistic view on things. But if his well-being is all that matters… Surely, you can allow him time to think.”

Triss stared at her hands, twisting her fingers together. “I suppose you’re right. As usual.”

Dorian sighed happily. “Dashingly handsome, skilled, and wise. I’ve got it all. I’m surprised Cullen didn’t seek comfort in my arms.”

The mage gasped when Triss slammed into him. He threw his arms up as she embraced him. Blinking dumbly, a warm smile spread across his face and Dorian returned the gesture. He patted her shoulder.

“Give him time,” he told her softly. “He’s waited over two years for you. You owe him that much, at least.”

“Thank you, Dorian,” she said against his chest.

“Simply doing my duty as a member of the Inquisition. Now, let go of me, lest I smell like Solas’s healing balm for a week.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you crying yet? No? I'll try harder.


	7. A Place In My Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carolyn, Cullen, and Triss decide what shall become of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1,961 words

It felt strange to have Triss home once more yet to have fallen asleep with someone else beside him. But when Cullen rolled over the next morning, he found Carolyn’s pillow, still damp with tears, vacant.

He sat up and groaned as he stretched. His neck and shoulder muscles were stiff as stone from such a stressful night. He dressed slowly, feeling numb. The methodical adorning of his armour had been cumbersome when Triss had first left. In the past few months, Carolyn had given him a reason to get out of bed and dress in the morning. But now? Cullen wished he could remain under his bedsheets until all this mess was over.

But she needed him. Carolyn, after what happened to Alistair. Triss, after escaping the Fade. But who to approach first? Did Carolyn even want to see him now? And would Triss ever want to lay eyes on him again?

The memory hit him hard. He had left Carolyn in the upper chambers of the keep for a moment, just to call for a cup of water, when he had seen her. Flanked by Leliana and Josephine, who could hardly keep up with the pace Triss set, the Herald of Andraste didn’t even meet his gaze when she passed him. She limped, jaw visibly clenched against the pain. He had to fix it. Cullen had caught up with her and blocked the door to the corridor that lead to the war room.

/  
“Please, Triss, I –“

”Do not presume to use my first name again. I am the Inquisitor, Commander Rutherford. You will address me as such.”

“Just listen to me. I can explain everything.”

He had seen Triss that angry only one before, during an encounter with a Pride Demon in the Hinterlands that just wouldn’t die. Triss’s face flushed scarlet and she stabbed her index finger at his chest so vehemently that he feared his breastplate would shatter.

“Explain what, exactly? While I was fighting demons in the Fade, unable to rest for fear of my throat getting slit in my sleep, you were doing what? Or should I say, who?”

Cullen had had no reply. Triss had simply pushed past him and slammed the door in his face, leaving him alone in the main hall. Spectators watched him carefully – soldiers and servants and Thedas’s finest noble guests alike – wondering what the commander’s next move would be. He had no other choice but to fetch what he had come for and retreat. There was no winning this one. Not with Triss in the state she was in.  
/

Cullen opened the door of his office and breathed deep the cold mountain air, hoping perhaps to clear out the fog in his mind. But his logic remained muddled. There was only one thing to do, and it was what he had taught himself to do: find Carolyn and help each other through.

It was in Skyhold’s Chantry that he found the Warden. The mage was on her knees before the statue of Andraste, candlelight sending shadows skittering across her form. Cullen slowed in his approach. He leaned against the doorframe, watching, waiting for her to notice his presence. Long seconds turned into longer minutes. He cleared his throat.

“Have you come to pay your respects?” Her voice was quavering.

“I didn’t know it was already time for that.”

Her shoulders rose and fell. “If he’s dead, they’ll never find his body. Now is as good a time as any.”

Cullen came to kneel beside her, grunting with the effort to move with such ached muscles. Her hand came to rest on his pauldron. Cullen reached up to place his hand over hers, squeezing her fingers gently.

“It’s like what you said yesterday. There’s no closure. You can’t dare to hope, or else you’ll never move on. But believing that they’re…” He shook his head.

Carolyn raised her face to Andraste’s brassy statue. “She came back. They all did. Why not Alistair? I’ve dragged him into the Fade hundreds of times. And I’ve dragged him out.”

There was something final in her voice. A decision in her tone, conclusion stitched between her words. Cullen furrowed his brow.

“What is it?”

Carolyn let out a sigh. “I have to go after him. I have to try.”

“No,” said Cullen firmly. “I won’t let you walk straight to your death. Triss was already trapped in the Fade – who knows how long you’ll be gone, or if you’ll even return.”

“The same can be said for Alistair. You know how it feels to lose someone to the Fade, never quite getting closure, fearing the worst, clinging to hope. You wouldn’t put me through that.” She turned and cupped his cheek, gaze roaming over his face. “You’re too kind to let that happen to me.”

Cullen shut his eyes, revelling in the feel of her warm palm against his cheek. The curve of his face fit perfectly there, as if the Maker had sculpted them both for it. He kissed the heel of her hand.

“What does this mean?” he asked quietly, but his voice echoed through the cavernous room. “For us?”

Carolyn sighed thoughtfully as she mulled over the question. When she settled on an answer, she stroked his cheekbone with her thumb.

“It can take something as jarring as this to make you realize how much you love someone. I saw the look in your eyes when Triss walked into the courtyard. Surprise, then absolute adoration. You look at her as a man trapped in darkness looks at the sun.”

She paused, swallowing audibly. Cullen opened his eyes to find hers downcast.

“And while I was content with thinking Alistair dead, and that being the end of it,” she continued, voice quivering, “knowing that he might still be alive – that he was last seen breathing and living – I… I can’t let it go. I can’t go through another two years of convincing myself he’s gone. The nightmares only just recently stopped, I –“

She bowed her head. Her hand fell from his face and dangled limp at her side. Cullen drew her into a tight embrace, and her arms lifted weakly to drape over his shoulders. A moment of silence passed between them, broken only by birds singing their morning song in the gardens.

“I’m leaving tonight,” she declared. “I’m going to write to Sten and Oghren. I may just steal Morrigan from you and send her after him. But I’m going to find him.”

Her words were solid, but her voice still shook. Cullen held her close, one hand on the back of her neck, the other around her waist. Her cheek was soft against his rough, unshaven jaw.

“You have been more than a blessing,” Cullen whispered, voice breaking. “I would have drunk myself into a stupor – and probably to death, if it hadn’t been for you. You refused to be pushed away.”

“And you let me in,” she said, breath stirring the hair by his ear. “You were there for me when nobody else could be, when it pained you to listen to your feelings being echoed back to you. And for that…” Carolyn leaned away only to press her forehead again his. “For that, my dearest friend, you will always have a place at my table, by my hearth, and in my heart.”

“As will you,” said Cullen. “The Inquisition will remember your efforts for years to come, but I will never forget.”

He pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. They tasted of tears. When the parted, she patted his cheek.

“Sweet Ser Cullen,” she sighed nostalgically. “I’ve always adored you. Why is it that just when we get close, we’re torn away from each other again?”

Cullen chuckled, but the sound was strangled a bit by sadness. “Perhaps in another life,” he concluded wistfully, and kissed her cheek before helping her to her feet.

Their hands still clasped together, they remained standing this was for a moment. That was, of course, the moment when Tristane Trevelyan decided to visit the Chantry. Her shadow fell over the stone floor. Cullen ripped his gaze from Carolyn to look at her. Triss’s shoulders were raised nearly to her ears, hands folded behind her back in humility unknown to the woman’s form. He gave Warden Amell’s hands one final squeeze before letting them go.

“I’ve come to apologize,” said Triss.

“For what?” Carolyn asked, a small hint of trepidation in her tone.

The Inquisitor shifted her weight from foot to foot. “For a start, interrupting your… prayers. And for your troubles. I only spent a short time with Alistair, but I can see why you love…d? him so. Smiling even in the face of danger. Before he… Well, he told me to tell you that he looked brave charging into battle.”

Carolyn laughed, and the sound wasn’t as hollow as Cullen had expected it to be. “Typical. Thank you. I… will be going after him. Tonight.” Her eyes rose briefly to meet Cullen’s gaze, determination swimming in their depths. “I’ll find him, even if I have to search for years. He won’t get away that easily.”

Triss smiled. “From what I’ve heard of you, I doubt you’ll have much trouble dragging him back to this world. And from what Alistair’s told me, I assume you’ll want Morrigan to join you.”

Carolyn strode to the doorway. “You read my mind, Inquisitor. Farewell, until we meet again.”

Cullen wasn’t sure if she was saying goodbye to Triss or to him. Her words plucked his heartstrings and, for the first time in a long while, tears stung his eyes. And just like that, she vanished into the light of dawn, once more out of his grasp. Triss watched after her over her shoulder. Carolyn must have turned a corner, for the Inquisitor’s gaze soon rested on Cullen.

“You deserve more of an apology than I can give,” she admitted. She crossed and uncrossed her arms, balling her hands into fists and keeping them at her sides. Forcing herself to open up, to bare herself to him.

“And you deserve an explanation,” he said.

Triss waved her hand dismissively. “Dorian told me all I needed to know.”

Cullen tilted his head and narrowed his eyes in apprehension. “He doesn’t know the details.”

“And I don’t want to know them, unless you think it necessary for me to. Dorian gave me what I needed to understand. And I do.” She stepped towards him. “You don’t need my forgiveness, but I’m offering it. I’m sorry for how I acted, how I lashed out when you were in just as much pain as I was. More, probably. At least physical pain is easy to –“

He closed the space between them in two short steps and cut her off with a kiss.

Kissing her was like coming home after a long, arduous journey. And Maker, did she welcome him. Triss threw her arms around his neck and stood on her toes to kiss him back. Cullen snaked his arms around her waist, drawing her close and deepening the kiss. Triss’s back arched, and he leaned forward, dipping her low and feeling a smirk grow on her face.

When their lips parted with a satisfying smack, Cullen remained in that position for a moment, balancing his lover with his hand flat on the small of her back. Triss’s cheeks were flushed a bright shade of pink, and he felt his own face heat up with passion.

“Now that,” she chuckled, “was the kind of welcome I had hoped for.”

Cullen pulled her upright and trapped her in an embrace. Triss returned the hug, strong arms coiling safe and solid around him.

He kissed the top of her head. “Welcome home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Currently working on the bonus chapter -- prequel smut!


	8. Whiskey in the Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pre-Adamant, Cullen and Triss spend their final night together before starting their journey west. Extremely NSFW.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to repeat that this is sort of a prequel to the events of this story. /Before/ the Inquisition goes to Adamant and Triss gets trapped in the Fade. I drew a few connections between this and the first chapter to draw it all together.

Tevinter whiskey stung Triss's tongue and made her chest burn. The bottle Dorian had bought for her birthday was nearly empty. Only a small trickle lingered at the bottom. The Inquisitor had drained it into her glass, relishing in the spicy bite of the dregs. She couldn't tell the difference between the tingle the scorched amber drink left on her lips, and that which ran beneath her skin as Cullen trailed tipsy kisses across the expanse of her belly.

The muscles of her abdomen tensed as his tongue darted out, tickling the side of her waist. Triss's gasp cut through the whispering winter winds.

“You never told me you were ticklish,” chuckled Cullen, pressing a messy kiss to her pale hip, freckled by a childhood in the sun.

“That's because I'm n-Ah!” Triss yelped as his teeth grazed the very same spot. Her body instinctively kinked to the side, away from his warm mouth. His fingers ghosted across the other side, forcing Triss to squirm back into place, the crimson sheets of his bed twisting beneath her.

“Now I know why you've never let me kiss here.” Cullen raked his fingertips up her ribs and over her bare breasts. He pressed just hard enough to leave ten pink trails across her skin.

“Or here.” He shifted down, mouth moving over her hip with each slightly slurred word. “Certainly not here.” He smirked as Triss squealed when his next kiss pressed just over the waistband of her trousers.

Her fingers knotted in the sheets as she tried to keep her voice in control.

“I am your Inquisitor, Rutherford,” she said, giggling at the own drunken quiver of her words. “Inquisitor trumps Commander. How dare you treat me like this.”

“I apologize,” he muttered against her belt. “I never meant to tickle you, love.”

Triss threaded her fingers through his golden curls, tangled and tousled from fooling around. She pulled his head back to look into his hazy eyes.

“That smirk says otherwise,” she said in a growl.

Cullen twisted one of her nipples between his thumb and forefinger, callouses sending a shiver up her spine. Triss's grip on his hair tightened.

“Maker,” she breathed. “What happened to the man who blushed at the mention of the word 'bed'? And,” she broke into a fit of snickering, “and nearly fainted before our trip to Halamshiral when I suggested he practice his Orlesian between my l-- Oh!”

Her words were cut off as Cullen gave her sex an open-mouthed kiss over her trousers. Triss let her hand fall from his hair, dragging her fingers across his stubbly cheek before twisting them in the sheets.

Triss giggled as Cullen undid her belt and pulled at the laces of her breeches. Kisses speckled over her thighs, his mouth warm through the roughspun fabric. Her stomach flipped in anticipation as he trailed a finger along the seam of her pants, tracing up from her ankle and her inner thigh, pausing to add pressure and run a knuckle over her crotch.

Urgency overtaking his teasing, Cullen slid his fingers into her breeches and tugged them down along with Triss's smalls. He hummed at her wetness in the firelight. Triss's already-flushed cheeks burned a deeper shade of red.  
She expected Cullen to make some drunken jape. Triss nearly said it herself to take the satisfaction from him. Too quickly was her voice stolen from her throat as his lips sealed around her arousal. She sunk back into the plush pillows. His tongue lapped gently at her spot, and she squirmed against him, searching for better purchase. She hugged her thighs around his neck, nudging him closer with her knees. Cullen’s tongue speared into her for one fleeting moment. But then it was gone, deliberately flicking slow and teasing over her clit. Pleasure coiled in her core, slowly building up and up.

  
As if on cue, heat of his mouth vanished, and Triss lifted her hips from the bed, seeking the skilled touch of his tongue. But when she found nothing but the chill that winter brought Cullen’s drafty quarters, the Inquisitor sat up and pouted. Her head swam at the motion. As Cullen chuckled at her dizzied state, Triss pressed a hand to her forehead and shut her eyes. She crinkled her brow dramatically.

“Love?” he asked breathlessly. Then, with more concern, “Love? Are you alright?”

He inched closer. Even with her eyes closed, Triss could feel warmth radiating from him. She counted the seconds, biting her bottom lip – which was already swollen from a hundred kisses. Cullen drew closer.

Triss’s eyes snapped open. She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close and running her fingertips over his back. When she hit the right spot, Cullen gasped and tried to get away.

“Are you ticklish, Commander?” she hooted, cheeks aching from the intensity of her smile. “How do _you_ like it?”

Cullen’s breath hitched as he tried to wriggle out of the Inquisitor’s grip. He managed to fall on his back, a halo of honey-dark curls splaying out over the pillows, and Triss settled atop him. The commander’s rough hands travelled the curve of her waist to her hips, her muscles newly hardened by the demands of the Inquisition. Triss moved out of his grasp, attempting to remove her trousers and smalls from their place gathered at her ankles. As the Inquisitor struggled with the mechanics of her boot laces, he watched her. Cullen’s chuckle grew from a deep rumble in his chest to a full-out howl of laughter when she fell over herself, effectively landing herself on the floor of his loft. One leg was free.

“You’re much too drunk for this, love,” he snickered.

“Shut up!” she retorted.

Triss yanked her right boot off and chucked it at him. He blocked it, and the boot ricocheted off his arm and landed on the edge of the loft. There it teetered, supple leather rippling in the firelight, before it toppled over the edge and hit the ground with a hollow clunk! Cullen glanced over at the empty space it left.

“ _I_ was nearly to drunk for _that_. I wonder if it landed on top of your shirt.”

Triss grunted as she at last pulled her foot free from her pantleg. “Shut _up_.”

“Do you deliberately throw your attire about? Do you enjoy nudity that much? Or is it the sight of me that drives you to tearing your clothes off?”

Smirk etched into his voice, Cullen laughed again, arms crossed over his bare chest and chin held high with pride. The low hum of fading chuckles was quickly cut short when Triss straddled his shoulders.

“Shut. Up.” Fingers knotting in his hair, she pushed his mouth towards her sex.

As she had learned the first night they had shared the bottle together, shutting Cullen’s drunken mouth required something to keep it busy. At least this way was more pleasurable than pulling a pillowcase over his head, binding his wrists, and leaving him to find his way back to his quarters. Triss giggled at the memory. Her laughter was intercepted by her own moans as Cullen’s hands skated up her legs and grasped her bottom, forcing her closer.

His stubble scraped against her, the prickling sensation sending shivers all through her. Triss’s legs trembled as he flicked his tongue over her clit. She rolled her hips, eager for the sweet friction that set her heart pounding. She felt a hunger at the bottom of her belly and gripped Cullen’s headboard as he slid his fingers along her entrance. The wet smack of his lips against her sex only amplified the feeling, warmth flooding through her body. The sharp scrape of his stubble felt stark against the soft, growing pleasure that blossomed in her core.

Triss groaned as Cullen parted her folds and slipped two fingers inside her. He curled them, rubbing her gently as he pushed further. Triss grabbed the bed knob so tightly that her knuckles turned white. Her breaths came in quick gasps as the commander tongued her spot with such fervour that she had never seen before. Triss’s eyes snapped open to meet his, hers hazy and filled with lust, his alight with ardour and admiration. He pulled his fingers out and his tongue slowed.

“Maker, don’t stop _now_ ,” she panted.

Cullen placed a kiss on her inner thigh before he brushed his fingers up her sides. Triss cried out and her body instinctively flinched forward, away from his touch. The commander chuckled against her leg. Cullen shifted, laying Triss down on her back and settling between her legs.

“What was that?” he asked with a smirk.

She rolled her hips between his hands, wiggling closer and pressing her sex to the bulge that strained against his trousers. Cullen let out a quiet gasp and bit his lip.

“You know,” she replied coyly.

He stilled her hips, pressing her into the mattress with one hand while unlacing his trousers with the other. He kept his eyes on hers, taking his time. All the while, his hand remained on her side. His grip never loosened. Triss watched him, grasping the sheets to restrain herself, as Cullen eased his pants and smalls down and his erection sprung free.

Triss licked her lips as he stroked himself, slow and deliberate. He ran his thumb over the glistening head of his cock, humming softly and dipping his gaze over her body. His grasp on her hip tightened as an evening wind blew through the room, sending a spray of silver snowflakes through the ruined roof and across the Inquisitor’s body. Her small breasts and taut abdominal muscles glittered as the ice melted instantly with contact. Cullen groaned quietly as Triss’s pale skin pebbled with the chill.

His hand sped up, and he worked his lower lip between his teeth. He shivered as warm pleasure fleeted through him, hitting just the right speed, just _that_ pressure. Triss moaned at the sight of him alone. Cullen squeezed his cock, twisting his wrist and slowing his hand to catch his breath.

“Please, Cullen,” she whimpered, moving out from under his grip and inching closer to him.

Cullen grabbed her hips with both hands, one much hotter than the other, and kept her still. He set the pace, making his slow way towards her.

“What do you want?” he asked, voice hoarse. Just by his tone, Triss could tell he desired it as much as she did.

“You,” she said, craning her neck up to kiss his scar.

“I’m right here,” he teased, the tip of his cock just barely pressing against her entrance.

Triss struggled beneath his hands, searching for friction. Her sex throbbed against his, aching for release. Cullen didn’t move.

“You,” she repeated, and her fingers skittered up his back. “Now.”

The commander’s grip loosened and his laughter stole air from his lungs until his chest burned. Triss wriggled out from under him. Cullen yielded, hands searching for hers. When she stopped tickling him, she was in his lap, grinning in triumph.

“Cheeky,” he scolded. “I’ve never seen someone drink that much and move so swi–“ Cullen’s words were swallowed up by a moan as Triss let gravity pull her onto his cock, sheathing him right to the hilt.

The commander’s rough hands traversed her thighs and he gave a slow roll of his hips. Pleasure cut through the haze that the whiskey had left over her mind. Triss wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him close, her chest flush against his. Cullen kissed her neck, his mouth warm amidst the chill of winter. The scream of winds through the craggy fortress mingled with the slap of flesh on flesh as Cullen bounced her in his lap, setting a slow, hard pace.

Triss moved with him, muscles flexing then turning to jelly, breath catching and his name on her exhales. Her thrusts quickly turned reckless, chaotic, seeking just _that_ spot his cock had hit not a moment ago. Cullen’s hands pressed against her back and he brought Triss up to her knees. His hot mouth sealed around one of her nipples, sucking and tonguing the tender flesh until it puckered and he felt her sporadic heart pounding against his lips.  
A shiver ran through Triss as his tongue teased over her nipple. She spread her legs further and angled herself forward so that he rubbed against her spot with each thrust. Words forgotten, caught in her throat, she let out one moan, then another at a higher pitch, her nails digging into the back of his neck. Cullen’s teeth grazed her skin and he thrust hard, hips aching with effort.

Triss left gashes all down Cullen’s neck as she came undone, choking out a syllable of his name before her orgasm stole the words from her tongue. He let her ride out each wave of pleasure before he rolled her over and he knelt once more between her legs, thrusting hard and fast, her whole body trembling in wake of her climax. It was hardly a handful of thrusts later that the commander spent himself in her, doubling over and moaning a curse against her neck.

Cullen carefully slid out of her, his hot seed spilling over the scarlet sheets that tangled beneath them. The commander peppered kisses all over Triss’s pale body, across the freckled expanse of her chest, the rounded curve of her shoulder, the soft spot beneath her chin.

“I don’t want to leave this bed,” she breathed, letting her head fall back.

“We have to,” he chuckled against her breast. “We’re to make for Adamant tomorrow.”

Triss gave a drunken laugh. “I am the _Inquisitor_ , Cullen. We don’t move unless I say so.”

“Are you proposing we postpone an army-wide mission just so we can remain here?” he panted.

“Is that so hard to believe?” Triss countered. “Anyone who knows you wouldn’t dare question m–“

Triss caught Cullen’s wrist before he could tickle her belly again. She raised one brow questioningly.

“I don’t think we’ll be getting much sleep, with you all _riled up_ like this, Rutherford.” She winked. “We need more whiskey. A liquid lullaby, wouldn’t you agree?”

Cullen pulled her close and laid one final kiss between her breasts. “That can wait. Don’t leave just yet,” he whispered against her skin.

“As you wish,” she said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! As always, feedback is greatly appreciated and encouraged. I'm not as confident about this chapter as I am the rest, but if I don't get feedback, I won't be able to identify exactly what's bugging me about it. If you have any constructive criticisms, I'd love to hear them!


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